


hospitality

by stelleappese



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Gen, spoilers for season 4 and 5, talks about suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7340941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelleappese/pseuds/stelleappese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morden wants some coffee. And someone to talk to.</p><p>Set during 'Day of the Dead'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hospitality

**Author's Note:**

> I know Morden looked really entertained reading that newspaper *all night long*, but I felt a bit bad he came all the way back from the dead just to spend the night being ignored :P
> 
> Also, Morden *could have* been looking for coffee for Lennier. But I liked this better xD

“Have you considered...” Morden says.  
“We are _done_  talking,” insists Lennier.  
“... that maybe all this isn't exclusively for your benefit? I mean, you're alive pretty much every day, I'm not,” Morden continues, with a little shrug, “A chance that comes once every two hundred years, _maybe_ , and I don't even get a coffee. Weren't Minbari supposed to treat their guests as if they would treat Valen himself?”  
“Do you _ever_  stop talking?”  
“I've been pretty quiet for a while, now,” smiles Morden. “Can I have that coffee?”  
“No.”  
“I can be very annoying,” warns Morden.  
“I'm very good at meditating.”  
“I'm in no way an expert on this sort of things, but I thought people didn't chat with the dead while meditating.”  
“I have nothing to say to you.”  
“As I said, not exclusively your benefit,” Morden says, sitting on the floor next to Lennier and bumping him with his shoulder. “I've already told you what I had to tell you. Also, I'm not asking for much. I could have asked for a nice, big cheesesteak. Some apple pie. Baked ham.”  
Lennier gives Morden a long, eloquent look. “You have one night back from the dead... and all you think about is food?”  
“I could think about other things,” Morden smiles, his voice low, eyes briefly darting down to Lennier's lips. He laughs when Lennier blushes, eyes going wide. “I'm joking,” he says, “Well, not completely. But I still would like coffee better.”  
“Why, thank you,” snorts Lennier.  
“Oh, I'm sure your performance would be perfectly fine,” Morden shrugs, “You only _look_  completely virtuous, don't you?”  
Morden's pale eyes examine Lennier's uniform, but the little grin on his lips makes Lennier feel as if he were sitting there, completely naked, being appraised by him. Morden leans into him a little, eyes flashing back up to Lennier's face, expression now perfectly innocent. “Don't you?” he repeats, with a tiny little blink of his dark eyelashes.  
Lennier springs up, smoothing down his uniform and trying to look like he's _not_  about to start screaming. “I'm going to find some coffee,” he announces; he clears his throat, stands there for a moment, then bolts for the door.  
“Thank you!” Morden yells after him.

Lennier is vaguely worried he won't be able to leave the room, but it seems whatever was stopping him before _knows_  he means to come back. It lets Lennier walk up to Mr Garibaldi's quarters, knock, repeatedly excuse himself for interrupting. Mr Garibaldi (a shirtless Mr Garibaldi, at that...) seems to be in too much of a good mood to care; he gives Lennier his coffee, energetically pats his shoulder, and hurries back inside. Lennier hears laughter as he walks away.

Morden is still sitting on the floor when Lennier gets to his room; he's leaning back on his hands, a pensive look on his face. He smiles cheerfully at Lennier, who tries very hard to hide his pout.  
“Why did you come to me?” Lennier asks, while making the coffee, “We never met. We never talked. We have nothing in common.”  
“You don't know that!” says Morden, “We could have been best friends, under different circumstances.”  
“I seriously doubt that.”  
“I used to be someone else, you know,” Morden says, “I used to _know_  who I was. By the end... I wasn't even entirely sure _what_  I was... _But_ ,” Morden says, sitting up, pointing a finger at Lennier, “You would have liked the man I once was. I was kind of a nerd.”  
“A 'nerd'.” sighs Lennier, “Forgive me if I say so, but you are really not good at complimenting people.”  
“There's nothing wrong with being a nerd! Well, apart from the bit in which your nerdiness ends up making you think getting on a ship to Z'ha'dum is a good idea. Although, to be fair, nerdiness was only part of it...”  
“What was the rest?”  
“Self-preservation, I suppose,” says Morden, accepting the cup Lennier is handing him and smiling at him. Lennier is so taken aback by that answer, he lingers a moment too long and Morden's fingers brush his own as he takes the cup.  
“I don't understand,” he admits, sitting down on the floor in front of him. “What does self-preservation have to do with the Icarus?”  
“With the Icarus? Nothing. With me, plenty. You see, Ranger Lennier, I thought being in a secluded space, constantly surrounded by people, would help me. The man I was was _so worried_  at the thought of being an inconvenience to people. Blowing my brains out on the Icarus would have been so messy.”  
“Blowing your...” murmurs Lennier, “You wanted to die?”  
“Oh, yes,” says Morden, taking a sip of his coffee, “What can I say? I've never been good at dealing with pain. That's how what you call 'Shadows' got my loyalty, I think. They made the pain stop.”

Lennier looks at Morden as he cheerfully drinks his coffee. He looks completely satisfied, completely composed. Maybe he really is happier dead than he was alive...

He stretches like a cat once he's done drinking, sighs contentedly. “It' so nice, having a chat without strange invisible aliens eavesdropping on you. And voices in your head. I could never really enjoy the silence, after the Icarus accident.”  
“Why did you not tell anybody?” asks Lennier, “Why didn't you tell Captain Sheridan they were controlling you? He would have helped...”  
“I wouldn't have wanted him to help,” Morden says, “I swore I'd serve them. I did that willingly. I did that because they kept their word, and because I didn't care about what happened to me anyway. Although...” he flops on the floor, crossing his arms against his chest, frowning at the ceiling. For some reason, Lennier finds himself doing the same thing. They're lying so close to one another their elbows brush against each other. “I do regret not being able to tell Sheridan... I do regret not being able to apologize.”  
“Really?”  
“Yes. Him, I don't care much about. But his wife was a good person. She was kind. I wish I could have died with her. _Really_  died, that is. I've done plenty of horrible things, and I've never felt bad for any of them. Maybe it was because of the thing the Shadows put inside my brain, maybe I really just wasn't a good person. But when they took her from the machine and asked me to tell her who she was... that hurt.”  
“Were you in love with her?” asks Lennier.  
Morden smiles, shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I've only ever been in love with one woman in my entire life.”  
“I see...” whispers Lennier, “We do have something in common after all.”  
“Told you,” smiles Morden, poking him gently with his elbow.  
“Perhaps we  _could_  get something to eat,” Lennier says.  
“I knew I liked you for a reason,” says Morden, winking at him.

 


End file.
